Winchesters Never Say Die: A Tale of Moms, Memorials and Mickey Mouse
by Ridley C. James
Summary: The Winchesters deal with another Mother's Day the only way they now how-together.
1. Chapter 1

Winchesters Never Say Die:

A Tale of Mothers, Memorials, and Mickey Mouse

By: Ridley C. James

Beta: Tidia

A/N: On this first Mother's Day without my amazing mom, I find myself nostalgic as I look back at the stories celebrating Mother's Day I have written over the years for these broken boys I love so much. _What Mom's Do_ , _What My Mom Gave to Me_ , and _What a Mother Leaves Behind_ have been some of my favorite stories to work on and _What Mom's Do_ is **still** the story I receive the most comments on from you the readers. I think that is telling of the role mothers play in our lives, even when or maybe especially when someone else has filled that role. I am envious of the writer I was last year, six months ago even, the one who relied on fertile imagination and years of working with children to relay grief and pain to the reader, intermingled with what I pray is always a theme of hope. I am no longer afforded such distance, but I still believe that a mother's love is relentless, incapable of being destroyed, untouchable, even by death. It never dies. In fact, perhaps I believe it even more so now that I understand it to be true about my own mother. This one is for her.

RCJ

" _But there's a story behind everything. How a picture got on a wall. How a scar got on your face. Sometimes the stories are simple, and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. But behind all your stories is always your mother's story, because hers is where yours begin."_

– _Mitch Albom_

"Go fish."

"You seriously don't have a two?" Dean Winchester looked up from his hand of cards at the challenging directive delivered with unwavering confidence. Skeptical as always, he regarded the earnest face across the kitchen table from him. "I find that hard to believe."

Dark, guileless eyes returned his gaze. His opponent gave a quick shake of her head, twin blond pony tails bobbing. An achingly familiar dimple flashed when she grinned. "Go fish, Uncle Dean."

"You heard the kid. No deuces for you, _Deuce_." Caleb Reaves, Knight of the Brotherhood was currently sporting a makeshift cape, left over from his earlier attendance to a tea party held by the resident princess, a paper crown sitting askew atop his head. He looked ridiculous. Dean ached to tell him as much in a way that would not have been fitting for innocent ears. His best friend tapped the deck between them with a wolfish smile. "Go. Fish."

"I wasn't talking to you, Prince Never Charming." Dean ignored Caleb, looking again to the little girl gripping a handful of cards close to her chest. He kept his voice sugary sweet. "Mary, honey, you sure you don't want to check again for Uncle Dean? Maybe you misunderstood, I asked for a two."

Caleb leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. "Are you seriously accusing our innocent, sweet, five year old niece of cheating you at cards?"

"No." Dean glared at Caleb. "I'm accusing her insufferable, conniving, Uncle Caleb of leading her astray just like he used to do with her old man back in the day. Was corrupting one generation of Winchesters not enough for you, man?"

"I never had to cheat to beat you at Go Fish, Dean." Sam Winchester stopped his perusal of the pile of mail before him long enough to shoot Dean a grin. It was lopsided and easy, which took the sting out of his insult to Dean's intelligence. "Nor any other game for that fact. I was way beyond my years when it came to outsmarting you, big brother."

Dean bit his lip to keep from a typical comeback as the other member seated at the table loudly cleared his throat. Mackland Ames might have been hidden behind the latest edition of _The New York Times_ , but Dean had no doubt the man was paying more attention to the conversations around him than to any headline.

"Was Daddy always smarter than you, Uncle Dean?"

The question was voiced as one might ask if the sky had always been blue and cats always had claws. Caleb laughed outright. Dean was sure he heard a soft chuckle from behind the newsprint, although Mac attempted to mask it with a well-timed cough. Mary, Sam's adorable, yet precocious daughter was staring at Dean again, her hand of cards forgotten in lieu of this latest inquiry. The kid was almost as relentless as her dad had been at five.

"Your old man has always _thought_ he was smarter than me and most everyone else, Kiddo. That doesn't make it true. Over confidence is not his best quality by a long shot. I hope you're a little more humble."

"Humble means not to be too proud or puffed up." Mary looked towards Mac. "Right, Grandpa?"

Mac snapped the paper, lowering it with an undeniably proud grin flashed in the little girl's direction. Like his son, Mac had not spared the next generation of Winchesters his own version of influence. Dean's children had a library of books before they were old enough to read. Sam's daughter was no exception. "You're exactly right, Mary. Humility is a very noble virtue. One all princesses and princes understand and take to heart."

"But one hard to pull off when you're practically perfect," Caleb added, tugging one of the little girl's pigtails. "Royalty or not."

"Your Uncle Caleb, despite being far from anywhere near perfect and as 'unroyal' as they come has always had a hard time with it." Dean jerked a thumb in his brother's direction. "It's not even in your daddy's vocabulary despite Grandpa Mac giving him a thesaurus before he was your age."

When Sam didn't admonish Dean's attempt to sully his reputation in front of his daughter, Dean turned to see if his brother had at least dropped the smile. Sam was staring at the pile of mail, one piece in particular. He accumulated mail at the farm on a regular basis. Jim's address was the only permanent one he or Dean had throughout their childhood. Even when Sam lived at Caleb's place in New York he'd given Dean's address as home. It had become a ritual for Dean to sort the mail, and place it in its own special drawer for Sam to go through on every visit. From the look on Sam's face, Dean wondered if he should have incorporated some kind of monitoring system, a way to assess a possible threat.

"Sammy? You alright?"

Sam's continued silence along with the stricken look on his face jolted Dean's heart. It was not unlike hours before when the black dog they had been chasing on their latest hunt doubled back on them. The animal had leapt out of the bushes to tackle Sam to the forest floor before Caleb or Dean could get a shot off. Sam had been stunned by the surprise attack, losing his breath and the upper hand. Sam was looking just as shaken now. Dean had done with the black dog what he always did, dove in head first to protect his brother. It was as natural as breathing, more instinct than any conscious decision.

"What is it?" Only now Dean couldn't see the enemy. The farmhouse's kitchen was the same as it had always been, sunny yellow wallpaper, cornflower blue curtains, the smell of cinnamon toast in the air, yet it was as if an invisible force had invaded their home, pouncing out of the shadows as easily and as unexpectedly as the black dog.

"Jessica."

The name was filled with as much pain as the yelp Sam had let loose when the creature had attacked.

"What?" Dean was certain he had not heard correctly. He wasn't sure if it was the incredulity in his voice or Mary's question of 'who's Jessica' that freed Sam from the latest assault. Dean watched his brother put down the envelope, didn't miss the slight tremble in his hand. Sam cleared his throat, flashed his daughter a perfect dimpled smile though it was nothing like the one he'd given Dean earlier. This smile was a mirror of the one Sam had given Dean when the dog was dead from Dean's blade, when Dean and Caleb had helped his brother up off the ground, steadied him to make sure he was still in one piece. The one Sam had forced and maneuvered into place to prove he was fine.

"An old friend of mine."

Caleb snorted. "Understate much, Runt."

Dean kicked his best friend under the table.

"Is it bad news, Samuel?" Mac folded his paper placing it to the side of the table as he leaned forward, his face creased with concern.

"No," Sam shook his head, holding up a gold and cream monogrammed card. "It's an invitation to a dedication-a memorial of sorts. It seems Jessica's family helped fund a new space at the Cantor Museum at Stanford, a wing for students' work. They are celebrating the ground breaking with a ceremony this weekend in Jessica's honor."

"What's a memorial?" Mary asked, the game of gold fish completely forgotten. She had eyes only for her father. Dean wondered if she had picked up on the emotion now charging the room. The dogs had. They gathered at Dean's chair, pressing their bodies against Dean's legs, tails beating on the linoleum.

"It's a way to remember someone who is no longer with us," Mackland answered. "Like the display of masks your grandmother and I took you to see this week when you visited us in Manhattan. Remember I told you the artist created each one in honor of a child who had lost their lives in atrocious acts of school violence."

"I liked the butterfly ones the best." Mary returned her solemn gaze to Sam. "Is your friend dead, Daddy?"

"Yes." Sam's face stayed frozen into that smile. Dean looked to Caleb catching a reflection of Sam's true feelings in his gold gaze. Dean didn't need to be a psychic, not when it came to his brother. He'd felt the stab of pain every bit as much as Caleb. "She died a very long time ago, sweetheart."

"You should go." Dean wasn't sure what prompted the suggestion but it was as natural as him going after the black dog, wrestling it away from Sam before slitting its throat. Sam rarely spoke about Jessica, about his life those years at Stanford. Dean suspected going back to law school, finishing his degree, had helped Sam heal some of that hurt, but old wounds ran deep. "It will be good for you, Little Brother."

"I think that's a splendid idea," Mac chimed in agreement before Sam could voice the refusal Dean knew was coming. It was in the sudden stiffness in Sam's posture, the way his brother's jaw tightened, eyes growing darker. Mackland pushed on despite the warning signs that no negotiation would be on the table. "In fact, all of you should go."

"What?" Dean had not expected yet another surprise attack. He was suddenly on the defensive along with this brother. He had every intention of offering to keep Mary at the farm, to spend a long weekend entertaining his niece with his Knight's help of course. Caleb would not have an option of blowing off a Guardian's order. "All of us can't go."

"Why not? It's the perfect weekend for a getaway. Samuel's birthday is just around the corner," Mac continued undaunted."You three have only finished a harrowing hunt. Everyone is away. If only Ben could join you…"

"Ben has finals coming up and it's not exactly a good time for me to be gone either," Dean interjected. "I'm manning the farm solo this weekend."

Juliet and the boys had made their yearly pilgrimage to Florida to spend the weekend with Juliet's grandmother Hannah. When the boys were small Hannah had visited them, Juliet's mother sometimes joining her. Now JT and James begged to go to their great grandmother's condo, which happened to reside on pristine beachfront property, just a romp from the Atlantic Ocean.

"I find myself a bachelor this weekend as well," Mac interrupted. "Esme is also visiting with her mother."

Dean shook his head, seeing the doctor's ultimate strategy. It was Pastor Jim worthy. Sam's birthday was not the only important date coming up on the calendar. Sunday was Mother's Day. He glanced at Caleb, who rolled his eyes at his father's blatant scheming. Sometimes Dean believed the former Scholar still saw them as little boys in need of protection from a Hallmark holiday of all things.

"I know for a fact that you had the weekend shift at the garage covered in case the hunt was prolonged, and I believe I'm quite capable of taking care of the dogs and horses. With Esme away, I was also hoping to have some research time in The Tomb. This would provide me much needed peace and quiet to focus on my work. You'd all be doing me a favor."

"Of course we would." Dean was not naïve. Over the years there had been countless distractions planned for their benefit. Impromptu hunts, well-timed visits to the farm, even one disastrous camping trip in Colorado where Dean had lost his favorite pocket knife and his appendix. Dean had always believed Pastor Jim the mastermind behind the well-meaning machinations, but since the Pastor's death Dean had to wonder if Mac hadn't been the inspiration all along. After all, as a motherless boy raised solely by a grieving father Mac had every reason to understand the pain of being without a mom on a day set aside for celebrating her.

"It sounds like a good time to me." Caleb pitching in lots with his dad didn't surprise Dean as much as his best friend's agreeing to go to California. In general, The Knight avoided coastal states.

"Because you love the beach so much, Damien."

"California has other attributes besides the Pacific Ocean, Deuce."

Dean narrowed his gaze. "So Hollywood is calling your name? You once compared LA to Hell, but with hot chicks and plastic surgeons a plenty."

"I was thinking more along the lines of Disneyland."

"Disneyland?" Mary gasped as if Mickey Mouse himself had just been lowered through the roof on a flashing stage with a strobe light. Dean felt the turn in the game as the little girl's eyes widened and her rosy little cheeks flushed. "Where Mickey and Minnie live?"

Caleb nudged Mary. "Don't forget the princesses, Princess. They all have castles there."

"Et tu brute," Dean murmured under his breath.

Caleb had always joined in with the older hunters in their mission to make Mother's Day about anything other than what it was set aside to celebrate. As a kid, Dean knew his best friend had to realize he was being shielded as much as Dean and Sam, but as he had grown older he'd taken up the gauntlet where the Winchester brothers were concerned. Apparently, he saw Mary as needing a bit of that protection now, too. Mary's mother might not have been dead, but she was absent, as good as a ghost in Caleb's book.

"I had forgotten about Disneyland," Mackland locked gazes with Mary. "You've never been, have you, my dear?"

"Never," Mary bounced in her seat. "Can we go, Daddy? Can we please?"

"Mary." Sam sighed. Dean felt bad for his brother. He almost regretted that he had inevitably opened the door for Mackland's grand plan, even though he'd done so believing the trip would be good for Sam, and more importantly it would be a solo journey. "Disneyland is hours away from Palo Alto where the memorial is taking place. It's nearly in San Diego. Besides the memorial is on Saturday. We haven't got the time to plan, let along undertake such a trip."

"We have a jet." Caleb glanced to his dad. "At least Dad has a jet and access to a corporate suite in almost every major city in America, including San Diego."

"What good is money if it can't make things happen?" Mac's grin grew, his gaze staying on Sam. "Leave everything to me. I will set up the flight, the hotel rooms and the tickets to Disneyland. I would enjoy nothing more than making this trip possible for the four of you, Son. Consider it an early birthday gift."

"Grandpa has magic just like Mickey Mouse," Mary chimed in, clapping her hands. "He likes to make important things happen."

Mackland chuckled, basking in the adoration. "I have found certain credit cards to be as good as a magic wand."

"Technically, Disneyland was my idea, Runt."

"You're not being very humble, Uncle Caleb."

"Cut off at the knees by our sweet, innocent five year old niece." Dean pointed at his chagrined Knight. "Seems someone else agrees not everything is about you, Damien."

"Actually, this isn't about _any_ of you," Sam spoke up, anger momentarily replacing dismay. "It's about Jessica."

"Of course it is, Samuel." Mackland's smile faded, his voice gentling. "I would never want to overshadow the purpose of this trip. I only met Jessica once, but I have a hard time believing she would not want you to come, to join in an opportunity to celebrate her life, to honor the impact she made while she was here. If you were to bring your family, and make some special memories along the way, I can only imagine that would have made her extremely happy."

"I can make a mask for the museum, Daddy," Mary offered. She reached over and placed her tiny hand atop her father's. "A butterfly one, with glitter and everything."

"Thank you, Sunshine." Sam was staring at Mary, all anger and trepidation erased by heart struck adoration. The lopsided, easy grin was back. "Jessica loved butterflies."

Dean recognized it as the moment his fate was sealed. Fear of flying be damned and so much for dodging the Disney bullet with his boys. He raised his gaze to Caleb, who tipped his ridiculous crown. Dean shook his head in resignation.

"California here we come."


	2. Chapter 2

Even Dean had to admit travelling by private jet had its advantages. The, wrap around couch, leather recliners and giant flat screen were a far cry from mainstream flying. The well-stocked bar and state of the art gaming system kept his mind from the fact they were 40,000 feet in the air and if he let himself, Dean could almost be lulled into believing he was merely in one of Caleb's favored hotel suites, hanging out after a long hunt. Mary's excitement was contagious and despite having to reroute to Oakland International Airport instead of the private one Mackland had arranged, Dean found himself looking forward to the time away. The fact Mac had swung the Presidential Suite at the Four Seasons Silicon Valley didn't hurt, nor did the breakfast fit for a king waiting for them on the terrace. Maybe the former Scholar was even smarter than Dean had always believed, and the trip would be good for all of them. Dean's new found optimism held right up until the moment they arrived at Stanford.

It wasn't Mary's shrill excited shrieking over the giant palm trees or Caleb's exuberant explanation of the Spanish Colonial Revival and Stanford's stately buff-colored buildings, but Sam's sudden stop just outside the entrance to the courtyard of his Alma mater that alarmed Dean.

"Sam?"

"You know the original entrance had a grand archway. Ironically enough, it was a memorial to the Stanford's only child," Sam replied after a moment. His gaze drifted from the red capped columns Caleb and Mary had just sauntered through to look at Dean. "They wanted to honor their daughter with something exceptional and magnificent. It was over a hundred feet tall and had a twelve foot high frieze carved across the top."

"What happened to it?" Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets, the feel of the dress pants he was wearing strange and unnatural. Like Sam and Caleb, he'd donned a tie and jacket for the occasion, though he longed to be rid of both in the peak of the hot California afternoon.

"The earthquake of 1906." Sam shrugged. His gaze drifted to his daughter and Caleb. They were stopped at a patch of flowers. Mary's pink dress billowed in the wind, her hair lifting off her shoulders. She had her favorite doll, Ariel clutched in one arm, the mask she'd made for Jessica in the other. Caleb was pointing across the green lawn toward a row of buildings with red tile roofs. Dean imagined his Knight was regaling the five year old with talk of specific architects now. "I guess nothing is meant to last forever."

Sam's morose statement had Dean refocusing on him. "I think Pastor Jim would argue that. Love stands the test of time even if concrete and mortar don't."

"Love can't be carved into stone." The sadness in Sam's eyes when he once more shifted his gaze to Dean had Dean's gut twisting, his big brother internal alarm sounding. "Or preserved in a museum."

"Memorials aren't so literal, Dude." Dean thought of Jim and Miss Emma's secret garden on the mountain. It was on a Mother's Day weekend many years ago that the former Guardian had taken his charges to show them his own memorial to his long gone wife, a giant oak husband and wife had planted together. Jim had gone a step farther, encouraging the boys to plant their own trees, giving their memories of their mothers a place to grow and thrive. Pastor Jim was far too wise to believe such an act would somehow atone for what Dean, Sam and Caleb had lost, but he believed the symbolism a way to let part of their hurt heal. Dean figured Jess's parents were hoping for some of the same.

"It's wrong that a wing in a building is all they have left of their only child."

"I doubt that's how they feel, man. It's like Mac said, they want to honor her life, not make a statement about her death."

"She's been gone almost fifteen years, Dean." Sam looked at his brother. "Can you imagine living that long without one of your boys?"

"No." Dean had suffered forty years in Hell to bring his brother back from the dead. He imagined he would do the same, or go to even more extreme lengths to save one of his sons.

"Losing Jessica, knowing I was the reason she died…" Sam blew out a long breath, ran his hands through his hair. "Until we lost you when your deal came due, I thought I'd never know that kind of pain again. But that was before I had a child, before I was a father. Now, I can't imagine…"

"Don't." Dean shook his head, understanding that going down such a dark road would not help his brother, was nothing along the lines of what he hoped this trip might bring for Sam. "Don't imagine, Little Brother."

Sam gave a quick nod, seemed to collect his runaway thoughts as sounds of Mary's giggle floated to them on the breeze. "I just don't know what I'm going to say to them after all this time."

"How about you start with hello." Dean clasped his brother's shoulder, offered a smirk of a grin when Sam gave him an incredulous glare. "Unless you and your great intellect can think of something better."

Sam shook his head, gave a half laugh. "Jess always did say I was scary smart."

Dean gripped his brother's shoulder tighter. "At least she had the scary part right."

"Jerk." Sam rolled his eyes, pulling away from Dean's hold.

"Bitch," Dean tossed back as he crossed the threshold into Stanford's inner sanctum side by side with his brother. Dean found it both odd and somehow fitting that they come back to this place together. "So much for ironic."

"What was that?" Sam glanced at his watch, checking the time as they matched strides to catch up with Caleb and Mary.

"Iconic." Dean gestured to the courtyard. "These old Mission style buildings are damn iconic."


	3. Chapter 3

"What about this one, Deuce?" Caleb was pointing to one of the looming statues by Rodin. They were milling about in the Rodin Sculpture Garden where the dedication had just wrapped up with an unveiling of the plans for the new wing. It was nearly dusk, the garden alight with white Christmas lights. People in suits and designer dresses were mulling about, circling the sheer tents that housed champagne and finger foods. "Do you find the _The Praying Woman_ 'iconic'?"

"Shut up, Dick Head."Dean narrowed his eyes at his Knight. Caleb had been rubbing in Dean's earlier obfuscation to Sam every chance that he got.

"That's not very nice." Mary looked up at Dean, her fingers tightening in his. "Daddy says shut up is a bad word, and we shouldn't call other people names."

"Well, Uncle Caleb's not being very nice to me."

Caleb feigned innocence. He hid his smirk by taking a drink of his champagne. "I was just asking your thoughts on the art, Deuce."

"In that case, I think it stinks." Dean allowed himself to be pulled along by Mary as she stared thoughtfully at each and every bronze depiction.

"What?" Caleb stuttered, as he strode along beside them. "Rodin understood the human body like no other of his time."

"How can the woman pray if she doesn't have any hands?" Mary asked. "Where's her head? How do you know she's a girl?"

"Those are very good questions, Mary." Dean eyed his best friend. "Damien?"

"It's abstract."

Dean laughed. "That's all you got, Mr. Artist?"

Caleb sighed. "I could go into a spiel about Art Nouveau, sexual form, energy and erotica?"

"What's erotica?" Mary let go of Dean's hand, looking to Caleb now.

Dean snorted. "Please ask your daddy that question, Munchkin, and make sure he knows Uncle Caleb was the one to pull that word out."

"Speaking of the original runt," Caleb wisely changed the subject. "Wonder how he's fairing in the receiving line. Even I have to say their choice of location is ironic and _iconic_ , at least as far as Sam's concerned."

"I'm guessing he's holding his own." Dean glanced over his shoulder towards Rodin's masterpiece _The Gates of Hell_ , the artist's famous depiction of a scene from Dante's 'Inferno'. The podium and main tent had been set up directly in front of the huge sculpture. Even with the large group gathered to speak to Jessica's parents, Dean could make out his brother's head, Sam's height making him hard to miss. Dean had a momentary flashback to the day of Jessica's funeral. His brother's haunted eyes, slumped shoulders, the smell of smoke that lingered on both of them. Sam had also asked to speak to Jessica's parents alone on that day.

"Was Jessica a princess?"

Dean refocused on his niece. Mary had wandered a few feet ahead of them and was staring at a large black and white photo on canvas of Jessica. The picture had been placed on an easel near the entrance to The Cantor Center. Dean joined his niece in front of the portrait; Caleb stepping around to Mary's other side. In the frame Jessica was looking directly at the camera, her open smile back-dropped by the sparkling ocean with the sun sinking behind her, waving grassy dunes all around. Dean could imagine his brother might have walked the same expanse of coast with her, watched at least a hundred identical sunsets.

"She looks like a princess." Mary held her doll tighter to her chest.

Dean rested his hand on the little girl's head. "Your dad sure thought so."

"How did she die?"

Dean glanced at Caleb. In general, they didn't dodge the tough questions with the boys, but Dean found it harder to be straight with Mary and Josie. Maybe it was the novelty of girls, or maybe Dean just had an ingrained need to shelter them. He was grateful when Caleb spared him spilling the truth.

"Jessica was killed in a house fire."

"When?" Mary looked from Dean to Caleb.

"Back when your dad and she were in college," Dean supplied.

"If she was Daddy's princess, why didn't the dragons save her?"

Dean didn't miss Caleb's wince. "Haven't you hit the 'what', 'when', 'how' and 'why' quota for the day, Kiddo?"

"Sometimes the dragons just aren't quick enough, sweetheart." Dean knew the dragons were a legacy he could not blame solely on his best friend. He had done his fair share of keeping Pastor Jim's legend alive. Not only did he recant the story of Prince Samuel and the mighty dragons to his own boys when they were Mary's age, but he went so far as to forge silver dragon pendants for his sons and Maxim. Caleb had painted murals for Mary's and Josie's rooms, transforming fierce Athewm, Belac, Astorim, Cam and even O'nathan Jay into Disney-like caricatures that guarded the little girls as they slept. The dragons were, as Pastor Jim had always intended them, a promise of safety, an oath of protection sworn with the upmost sincerity by their human counterparts. Unfortunately, the dragons were also bound by those same humans' downfalls. They could not save everyone.

"That's why we need unicorns." Mary once more looked from Dean to Caleb in grave seriousness. "They are super fast and their horns have healing powers. A unicorn would have rescued Princess Jessica."

"Not again with the unicorns." Caleb let out a theatrical groan, which had Dean's mouth twitching, his spirit lifting. Mary and Joshua's daughter Josie had mounted a growing campaign to add the magical beasts to the historic castle's cast of characters, along with a parade of fairies. Caleb Reaves might have been a pushover when it came to the next generation, but even he, acclaimed artist and award winning architect, drew the proverbial line at drawing unicorns and rainbows. "We already have a magical horse, Runt."

" _Hope_ is a Pegasus," Mary countered as only a little girl raised by a prominent defense attorney might.

Caleb was spared the embarrassing argument he was bound to lose by Sam, who appeared at Dean's side with a loud clearing of his throat. Dean turned to find his brother flanked by Jessica's parents.

"Dean, Caleb, I'd like you to meet Jessica's parents, Mr. and Mrs…"

"Please call us Stephen and Regina," Jessica's mother interrupted, reaching for Dean's hand.

Sam smiled; looking much more at ease than Dean would have thought possible considering how tightly wound he'd been throughout the ceremony. "Stephen and Regina, my brother, Dean and our friend, Caleb Reaves."

"Not the architect Caleb Reaves?" Jessica's father shook Caleb's hand.

Dean rolled his eyes as his best friend flashed a look of humble surprise at being recognized. "That depends on whether you're a fan or critic, Sir."

"A fan," Stephen chuckled. "I sat on the board of The Pritzker Foundation the year you won their prize for that magnificent building you designed in Chelsea."

"Then I suppose I owe you a long overdue thank you," Caleb replied.

"An attorney, an architect," Stephen's eyes went to Dean. Dean detected a hint of haughtiness. "That's an impressive family. What is it you do, Dean?"

"He's The Guardian," Mary interjected with a pride and reverence that almost had Dean's face pinking. He was spared an explanation when Jessica's mother took a knee by the little girl.

"And who might you be, my dear?"

"This is my daughter, Mary," Sam said, but Mary was already extending her one free hand, having shifted Ariel and the mask she'd made to the other.

"I'm Mary Amelia-Dawn Winchester."

"Dawn?" Jessica's mother looked from the little girl to Sam. "Jessica's middle name was Dawn."

Dean met his brother's gaze, hoping the surprise didn't register on his face. When it came to naming the first female Winchester, Mary was a no brainer. Dean hadn't been shocked when his brother threw in Caleb's mom's name as well, but Dean's best friend had been so choked up by Sam's unexpected gesture that he hadn't even complained when Sam had chosen Joshua and Carolyn as Mary's godparents. Dean had always assumed that _Dawn_ was Lydia's contribution to her and Sam's daughter's name, a compromise Sam had made with his passing down the names of their deceased mothers. The look Sam shot him told another story.

"I know," Sam said. "You named her Dawn because you knew she would bring the light to your world every single day of your life."

Regina's eyes watered and in that moment Dean realized that if there was something worse than being motherless on Mother's Day, it was being a mom without a child.

"She told you that?" Regina's hand went to her chest where a gold locket rested over her heart.

Sam nodded. "It's why I used her name for Mary. She brought light to my world, just like Jess."

"Daddy calls me his very own Sunshine," Mary said brightly. "The biggest, best star in the sky."

"I can see why." Regina touched Mary's cheek with a tremulous smile. "You, like Jessica, are so very beautiful and impossible to miss."

"I'm very smart, too." Mary nodded. "Grandpa Mac says my brain is like a giant sponge."

"She's also very humble." Sam laughed, shattering the moroseness. "As you can clearly see."

Dean punched his brother on the shoulder. "She takes after her old man."

"Greatness should not be hidden," Stephen assured, his eyes going to the photograph of his daughter. "I always told Jessica she was meant to shine. I can see that you have that way about you as well, Mary."

"I like art like Jessica, too." Mary held up the mask she had created during the plane ride. Dean was sure Mac would be finding glitter and feathers in the aircraft for years to come. "I made a mask for the museum, but since it isn't built yet, Daddy said I should give it to you."

Mary looked suddenly shy as she regarded Jessica's mother, casting a glance up to her father who gave her an encouraging nod.

Mary handed the butterfly mask to Regina. "He said Jessica would want you to have a present because tomorrow is Mother's Day."

"Oh," Regina blinked, a single tear sliding down her face as she accepted the gift. "It's incredibly lovely. But what about your mother? I'm sure she would love such a treasure."

"My mother lives in Europe." Mary explained. "Lydia says Mother's Day is a _very_ commercialized holiday that plays on women's exaggerated sympathies, like Valentine's Day, only worse."

"I see," Regina replied with an arched brow.

"She's British." Mary shrugged in a 'what are you gonna' do' kind of way that had Sam blushing again, and Dean hiding a smirk.

"And she's a bitch," Caleb muttered under his breath. Dean elbowed him. It seemed to Dean that Caleb often took Lydia's hands off approach to motherhood harder than Mary, who had never known anything but life with her single father and two aunts who adored her. Dean liked to believe Carolyn and Juliet more than made up for anything Lydia might have offered if she had stayed in Mary's life, but also understood as Caleb no doubt did that no one could truly replace a child's parent.

"I have always been a women easily overcome by her exaggerated sympathies, so I would be honored to have this incredible butterfly mask." Dean decided right then and there he liked Jessica's mother, and as he had suspected before, would have also liked her daughter. "My Jessica adored butterflies."

"Daddy told me." Mary looked up at her father, offering him an emphatic blink. It reminded Dean of the little boy his brother had been, the one who couldn't manage a wink either, and instead used the trademark slow blink in its place. Mary returned her gaze to Regina. "He said she even had a secret butterfly tattoo."

"Oh really?" Regina glanced over her shoulder, raising her eyebrow at Sam. "I didn't realize."

"That's why it was a secret," Mary surmised, wisely. "Daddy, Uncle Dean and Uncle Caleb also have secret matching tattoos."

"Not butterflies I hope." Stephen asked with great dread. Mary covered her mouth and giggled.

"Definitely not butterflies," Dean assured, conceding Jessica's dad may not be half bad either.

"If I got a tattoo, it would be a unicorn." Mary gave Caleb a pointed look. "Even if Uncle Caleb doesn't like them."

"I like them just fine," Caleb tried, much to Dean's immense pleasure. Seeing his Knight squirm under the tyranny of a five year old was small pay back for the hell he gave The Guardian on a daily basis. "I'm just more of a dragon kind of guy."

"Dragons are nice," Mary continued on. "But I _love_ unicorns."

"And dolls?" Regina pointed to Ariel, inadvertently saving Caleb once again. "I bet you love dolls as well."

"I do." Mary squeezed Ariel. "More than anything."

"Jessica had quite the collection. In fact, I think it would have made her very happy if someone were to give them a loving home, especially if that someone shared her name among many other of her finest attributes."

"I'm very good at giving love," Mary assured. "I love my family. I love my fish, Ramona. I especially love my two guinea pigs, Sprinkles and Glitter. I even love better than I play Go Fish, and I am really good at Go Fish just ask my Uncle Dean."

"She's quite the card shark," Dean vowed.

"Then that settles it, you must have them." Regina finally returned to standing, giving Sam a hopeful look. "That is if it's okay with your father."

"How could I say no to something that would make both Jessica and Mary happy?"

"Then you'll be joining us at the house for dinner this evening?" Stephen concluded. "Mary will want to take charge of her new companions immediately."

"Oh, I'm not sure…" Sam started.

"We live right on the beach," Regina told Mary, pointing to the picture of Jessica. "This is our backyard. Your father took this picture of Jessica on one of his visits."

"I've never been to a house on the beach." Mary let loose a tiny squeal of delight. "Do you have a pet dolphin?"

"No dolphins, but we do have two dogs."

"I love dogs!"

"What about Disneyland, Runt?" Caleb tried, even though Dean clearly saw the matter was already settled. "We have an early flight in the morning."

Mary propped a hand on her hip, a frown furrowing her brow in very Sam-like exasperation. "Grandpa owns the jet. It's not like it will leave without us."

"Spoken like a young woman who understands her position in the world, a lady after my own heart." Stephen reached his hand down and Mary quickly took it. "Perhaps Regina and I could show you the Picasso exhibit. It really is quite exquisite."

"Is it that okay?" Regina asked Sam.

"Of course." Sam pointed at Mary. "Be good."

Mary nodded. "I hope Picasso isn't abstract."

Stephen and Regina laughed, escorting the little girl between them as they made their way into the Cantor Center. Dean was quite certain Jessica's parents had just walked away from their daughter's memorial with more than they ever expected.

"What just happened?" Sam asked with a hint of bewilderment.

"Some rich dude and his wife just absconded with your kid," Dean snorted. "So much for you giving me a hard time when I lost JT at Chuckey Cheese."

"Look at it this way, Runt," Caleb offered as he picked up two more glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed them to Dean and Sam. "Mary may have inherited another set of indulgent, very wealthy grandparents."

Dean took the bubbly and offered his brother a sly grin. "In other words, expect that unicorn to be delivered to the farm for Christmas."

"Great." Sam gulped half his glass and started a slow walk back into the sculpture garden. "It will go great with the pony Mac brought last year."

"I for one am all about rich indulgent grandparents," Caleb offered, following. "Cullen still thinks I'm the best thing since sliced bread."

"That's not really a vote of confidence, Dude, considering the majorly spoiled egocentric brat you turned out to be." Dean took another drink of his champagne. He'd have preferred a nice cold beer but he'd learned to appreciate some of the finer things by way of his own, very rich, over indulgent stand-in uncle slash father figure. Mac would have most definitely approved of the swanky festivities.

Caleb surprised Dean by shooting him an amused grin. "You do realize Mackland Ames is just as loaded and probably ten times more indulgent than his old man ever dreamed of being, right? And he's got a willing accomplice in Esme."

"Damn," Dean swore, killing the last of the champagne and looking around for a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Mac adored all three of Dean's sons and spared no expense in showing his affection or lavishing the boys with his time. "I barely put up with you."

"Just be glad you have boys, Deuce." Caleb nudged his shoulder, pointing to an approaching waiter with a tray of shrimp. "Bratty girls are bound to be a lot more trouble."

The ribbing was good natured and Dean was heartened when his brother's mouth twitched. "I guess there are worse things than allowing my daughter to be doted on by kind, well-meaning millionaires. After all, it's the least I can do considering."

Dean refused to let Sam slide into more self recrimination about being the cause of Jessica's death. He grabbed a handful of the appetizers, forgoing the napkin. He pointed one of the shrimp at Sam before tossing it in his mouth. "Look at it this way, Bro. A trip to a California beach house is probably cheaper than some of those summer camps you were checking into for this year."

"True." To Dean's relief, Sam shook his head and grinned. "Llama camp alone is going to break me."

"Pastor Jim would probably see this as all a part of God's plan." The Knight had stopped in front of a large statue of three men, their bowed heads touching, their hands entwined. Dean noted that his best friend kept his eyes on the carved figures instead of meeting his or Sam's gazes when they joined him at the foot of the massive sculpture. "He'd probably point out that God uses all things inevitably for good, that hope can survive, even flourish, from the worst of tragedies."

"So that's what Pastor Jim would say?" Sam swirled the last of his champagne in his glass, sharing a knowing look and that easy, lopsided smile with Dean before finishing the drink. Dean knew exactly what his brother was thinking. Caleb might deny it, but he was Pastor Jim's best student. "I think it sounds like our Knight might have his own case of over-exaggerated sympathies."

"Shut up, Dickhead." Caleb growled. "You and I both know how Pastor Jim felt about all that faith, hope and love shit."

"I know how _you_ feel about the faith, hope and love shit." Sam was the one enjoying himself now and if Caleb hadn't looked quite so put out Dean might have let his brother gloat a little.

"Give him a break, Sammy," Dean bumped his best friend's shoulder. "Damien's just emotional around his hero Rodin. Must be all the nouveau form, sexual energy and erotica in the air."

"Erotica?" Sam's brow furrowed comically.

"That's what Mary said," Dean grinned, knowing all too easily how to turn the tables. He killed the last of his champagne, ready to enjoy the show.

Sam narrowed his gaze at Caleb, his smile erased. "You talked to my innocent five year old daughter about sexual energy and Erotica?"

Caleb's mouth opened and closed like a fresh caught fish on a bank. Dean ate the last of his shrimp before taking pity on his friend. He pointed at the closest Rodin. "Take these guys for instance. What the hell is going on here, Damien? I know you're dying to tell us."

"Yes, Caleb, do tell us." Sam swept his hand at the statue. "Maybe you could even interpret it from Pastor Jim's perspective without the bit on erotica."

"It's called _The Three_." Caleb started, smugly. "Rodin first carved them above the Gates of Hell. Originally, they pointed to the famous inscription 'Abandon all hope, ye who enter here'. The downward thrust of their arms and heads is meant to convey the great despair and torture that awaits them. Remarkably, all three figures even their pedestals are identical seen from the left, the right, even head on. It's like they radiate from a single point like the spokes of a wheel."

Dean looked at the statue again, noting the things Caleb had pointed out in his art student spiel. He returned his gaze to his best friend. "Now the Pastor Jim version."

"Pastor Jim would probably say _The Three_ is actually The Triad, entwined and forever connected by their fate, by their mission. Their form, the unbroken continuity, represents their hunter's ring and their unwavering commitment -a perfect unbreakable circle. Rodin, quite possibly might have been a hunter himself or was at least aware of The Brotherhood. He placed The Triad above The Gates of Hell as a reminder that evil could be defeated, would be defeated, and that good would always prevail. The Brotherhood would make certain. He wanted to illustrate that the innocent were being watched over, and protected from what lay behind the barrier. His _Three_ were meant to be a beacon of hope in a lost world, just like us, the current Triad."

"You seriously think Rodin was a hunter?" Sam's laugh was incredulous. "Wasn't he like barely four feet tall?"

"I said _Pastor Jim_ might think that Rodin was a hunter!" Caleb defended with a raised voice that drew a few stares their way. The Knight quickly regained his composure, lowering his voice to hiss at Sam. "If Abraham Lincoln and Samuel Colt were in our ranks, it's not so far-fetched, Runt."

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"I don't know, Sammy," Dean kept his eyes on the bronze figures of the three men. He liked the image of the spokes of a wheel, that the three men were actually parts of one whole. "I bet Rodin wielded a mean chisel and hammer."

"Actually," Caleb coughed. "Rodin used clay to sculpt his designs and hired a team of men to carve the marble and stone."

"What?" Dean glanced up at the massive bronze sculpture. "He didn't turn these babies out by hand."

"It's actually a very misunderstood artistic process between ..."

"Save your breath, Damien." Dean held up his hand to halt the explanation. "The more I hear, the more inclined I'll be to agree with Sam about the unlikelihood of your boy, Rodin ever donning any of Merlin's silver."

Caleb looked a little crestfallen so Dean added, "But it doesn't mean I don't think you had the whole story behind the statues dead to rights. He could have been one of our historians."

"Don't you mean Pastor Jim had the story dead on?" Sam snorted.

"Right." Dean nodded. "Besides, having been the only one of us to actually go to Hell, I have to give Rodin some credit for doing a good job conveying the whole torture and despair thing. Hell is definitely not a place for hope."

Dean had only been joking. The years since his time in Hell had dulled the sharp edges from his memory. His family had helped in healing the deepest of the wounds so that mostly only tender scars remained now. Twin looks of horror from his best friend and brother spoke to their unwillingness to make light of the ordeal no matter how long ago it had occurred. Dean offered them a quick grin in hopes to erase the kicked puppy stares.

"You two will understand that kind of torture and despair much better after we've entered the gates of Disneyland. I'm betting three grown ass men don't have much hope there either."

"Whose idea was that again?" Sam came around first, refocusing his disappointment on Caleb. "You just had to bring up the princesses."

"Hey, _I'm_ the one having to endure a night in Regina and Stephen's seaside cottage. The sound of the waves and the smell of brine will serve as more than enough punishment for trying to help _your_ kid have a half-way decent Mother's Day. They'll probably serve fresh lobster. I hate lobster."

"You couldn't have just taken her up to Miss Emma's garden?" Sam questioned. "Maybe planted a flower or a tree with her to make her feel better like Jim did with us when we were kids."

Caleb's eyes lit up. "Maybe I could just plant Lydia up there. That would sure as hell make me feel a whole lot better."

Dean wisely saw the need for Guardian intervention. "Damned if old Merlin didn't have a way of spinning things. I can't think of many Mother's Days that he didn't have us doing some crazy thing or another. He'd probably get a kick out of us being in The Magic Kingdom. "

"Pastor Jim could always see the best in a situation," Sam admitted, letting the dig at his ex-wife slide. Dean knew his brother understood part of Caleb's dislike for Lydia spurned from the belief she had hurt Sam.

"He saw the best in us," Caleb added, offering Sam an apologetic punch on the shoulder. "Even when it wasn't warranted."

"Old Merlin always made it a point that even though we didn't have our moms, we still had family." Dean looked from Sam to Caleb, nodded towards the statue of _The Three_. "We've always had each other's backs."

"I'd say that makes us pretty damn lucky in my book," Caleb said.

"Mary, too," Sam added, suddenly looking almost as shy as his daughter had earlier when presenting Regina with the butterfly mask. "She's never lacked for love. Neither have we."

"Jim would say _that_ was the whole God working things for good angle." Dean had to admit Damien wasn't the only one who wanted to take Jim's old sermons to heart. He'd been a halfway decent student himself, Sam too, when he wasn't being overwhelmed by Scholarly logic. "We've done a lot of good in the world despite how it all started."

"We still have a whole lot left to do," Caleb interjected. "We're going to be the longing running Triad in Brotherhood history."

"That is if we survive Disneyland," Sam deadpanned, moving further into the garden as others stopped to study _The Three_.

"Always with the pessimism, Runt." Caleb ditched his empty glass of champagne and grabbed another. "Besides how bad can it be? I've been to American Girl in New York _and_ Boston."

Sam frowned at The Knight. "Just so you understand our demise will fall squarely on your shoulders."

Caleb took a long drink of champagne. "What else is new."

"Come on, Sammy." Dean tossed an arm over his brother's shoulder, regaining his appreciation for Mackland's plan. "We've survived thirty something Mother's Days together, including the one where I had to have emergency surgery. You made it through Jess's memorial. Mickey Mouse doesn't stand a chance against us."

Sam quirked a brow at his brother. "You realize you can't take weapons inside the park, right?"

Dean looked over his shoulder. "Damien?"

"I got it covered, Deuce."

Sam gave a little groan. "Why do I even try?"

"Because you're a Winchester, Little Brother." Dean reached up to ruffle Sam's hair in a way he'd knew would garner him not only an eye roll but a half-hearted shove away as well. The easy, lopsided smile framed by deep matching dimples was a bonus. Dean flashed a grin of his own. "Winchesters never say die."

The End…for now

A/N: More of Prisoners of the Past is coming very soon. Did someone say Dean hurt….? (Insert evil, author laugh here)


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